


To bear me like a thunderbolt

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Historium Commentfest 2019, M/M, Regret, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: He was never meant to have this. This love, deep and wide and vast, like the land. This love that kills him.Hotspur at the end, when nothing matters anymore.





	To bear me like a thunderbolt

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](https://historium.dreamwidth.org/14759.html?thread=102567#cmt102567). 
> 
> The title is from act IV, scene I of Henry IV, part I.

He stands alone, on the empty, open field. He looks up to the sky. There is a pause, like a whisper in the air. And there should be a crossroads here, a choice. Something to come home to. Instead, there is an ending. There is nothing.

His eyes try to find the way home. He wants to go southwards, like the river. But everything is lost now. Everything has been torn to pieces.

And he is no different. He fights, because he has nothing left. Once, there was anger within him. There was rage. But he is empty now. It's all over now, but it's been over for a long time.

His pride is gone, trickling away like blood. It's just as well. He is tired, so tired of the lies. Still, he will close his eyes, without speaking the truth. He can't. He never could. Instead, he chose to be thunder, to be quicksilver. He chose to destroy everything. He chose to destroy himself.

In another world, they might have been here, together. They might have shared this. But this, _this_ , whatever it was, has been put to death. He was never meant to have this. This love, deep and wide and vast, like the land. This love that kills him.

For a moment he wonders, if a shared name could ever mean a shared heart. But if the hand that holds the blade is his -- not so. If the mouth that seals his fate is his -- no. Not so.

And the blade is upon his tongue. The blade catches the light. The blade is a sharp, sharp word. And the word is what gets to him. The word is what cuts him deep. The word is what _hurts_.

And he falls. He falls, and his body is the battlefield itself. The river runs through his veins, but there is no water here. There is no water but his tears, and those make for a poor river. Still, it's all he has. And he wanted to be so much more. He _wanted_ so much more. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter now.

This heart was always his. And now he shall have it. He shall have it, wild and red and cut open from his breast. It hurts, but it is all that he can give him. And there is no shame in it. He shall have it, this thing of beauty, this brave, brave heart.

There are no stars now. No, there is no shame. He lies here, defeated, his fiery heart in this fiery land. And the sun is still a rebel sun, and the sky will still be here tomorrow. But he will fade, like broken splinters. He will be thunder, he will be lightning, he will be gone.


End file.
